


Boots

by helena_s_renn



Category: Def Leppard, Music RPF
Genre: 10-second appearance by Rick (Allen), Baby Lepps, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex, Shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 15:13:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21283763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn
Summary: Sav buys new boots. Joe's imagination and possessive nature are on fire. You know what's gonna happen. They just wanted each other so bad, NOW...
Relationships: Joe Elliott/Rick Savage
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Boots

**Author's Note:**

> *Cross-posting from RF. 
> 
> *Based on a certain photo of early DL, these two boys in boots as described in the story.
> 
> *The usual disclaimers... written out of love and admiration, no disrespect EVER.

-1981

They were walking down the road, past the same old shops they passed every day. Suddenly Sav pulled up short and cut a quick left turn across Joe's path to stare into the front window of a shoe store. 

"...the hell? What's your deal?" Joe asked, his feathers ruffled by nearly tripping over his bandmate, and the close proximity of same for a moment. They were in public, and it hadn't been so long since they'd come to an understanding about both behind-closed-doors and for-general-consumption type activities. Sometimes the line got a little blurred. Especially with Sav's hair brushing against him on the way by, and the scent that lived in it up his nostrils.

Sav was so close to the window he nearly had his nose pressed to it like a little kid. "Look at those boots, Joe." The tone of his voice spoke to his shoe-holic tendencies. "The white ones..."

Here, Joe cut him off in turn. "With the heels? Not very practical, Sav. You'd slip and fall on your arse." 

"Nah. Or you know... I'd wear them to practice."

The idea of that sounded like pure distraction. "You can't afford them anyway," Joe scoffed. He wished he could buy his mate whatever he needed or wanted but they were perpetually broke. Any money went back into the band. 

"Well... I have a bit of cash left from last Christmas." 

Now Joe was indignant. "And you never told me?"

"As soon as any of us gets a penny it's wine, whiskey or beer." Sav turned his head enough to see Joe about to protest. "You know it's true." 

The singer changed tack for the third time. "Well that wouldn't be right, if you were artificially... um, that tall." 

"Oh come on! Not five years ago, everyone was wearing platforms." Then Sav cottoned on and his usually wide eyes narrowed to flashing slits. "Oh, I see. You want to be the tallest, no matter what." He gauged the height of the heel. "This would be the great evener. You've only got about three inches on me."

Immediately, Joe grabbed his crotch. "I have more than that..." 

Eyeroll, huff, snort... "You wish! That's it," proclaimed Sav. "I'm getting them."

It seemed that Joe wouldn't be circumvented. His last-ditch hope was that they wouldn't have any in Sav's size. Following him into the shop, he prowled around while Sav perched on a chair waiting for the salesman to check his stock. 

Thwarted! The white boots were available in Sav's size and they fit perfectly. The bassist circled the floor of the store a few times to get a feel for walking in them. His gait was different, careful, his spine arched a bit more than usual. He ended his walk in front of one of those slanted mirrors that ended at knee level admiring how the bottom hem of his dark jeans contrasted with the white leather. 

"They make your feet look tiny," Joe hadn't stopped watching out of the sides of his eyes. "You know what they say... small feet, small hands, small noses..." 

"Joe!" Sav whined, looking truly insulted. He couldn't - wouldn't - retort to the inappropriate comment in front of the clerk. The stranger's eyes seemed to dart there and away. 

"This just isn't right." There was also a full-length but narrow mirror next to the door and Joe jostled Sav over to it, standing beside him - they were definitely touching - to compare heights. Sure enough - the same. Shaking his head, the definition of morose, Joe reached for the door handle. 

"What's your size, Sir?" asked the salesman. Joe stopped and raised a eyebrow. 'Sir?' When he finished sniggering over the question of size, he told the bloke and asked, "Why do you wanna know?" 

"We have just one pair of..." he pointed to some light brown Western-looking boots on the sale rack. Sure enough, they also had a heel. Not quite as high as those on Sav's chosen accessories but they'd get Joe into his accustomed slot again. Only... "Thanks, but I'm skint." 

"I'm not," interjected Sav. "I can get them, if you'll take," he named the amount in his pocket to the clerk, "for both, including tax." The man hesitated a moment, then nodded. Joe started to protest but Sav told him slyly, "You can owe me. Pay me back..." Yeah, pay him back in trade, he meant, and Joe knew it. 

"Um. Right. Thanks." Joe squirmed but he tried on the boots that seemed to be made for him. They felt strange but styles changed and he'd get used to it. Pulling them off again not a minute later, he plunked them on the front counter and turned toward the door. "I'll wait outside. It's too hot in here." This time, he escaped for real. 

Sav took care of the bill. He left the shop feeling lighter in the wallet, heavier in the shopping bag and in his balls. He found Joe leaning against a lamp post. "Aren't you enterprising? Found a way to repay me?" He looked Joe up and down, a little smirk appearing and then gone again.

Jumping away from the lamp post, Joe couldn't help but laugh. "Maybe something... related. Like, your boots waving in the air while I..." 

"Hm, there's that. Or clamped tight around your sides while I reverse cowgirl you." 

"Dammit, Sav..." The tone this time was also familiar. Boner. 

... 

The walk back to Joe's accelerated infinitesimally step by step. "Happy with your little purchase?" he asked, about halfway home. 

"Blissfully..." Sav purred. He'd extracted oversized shades from somewhere so his frontman couldn't see his eyes. But his lips turned up, looking redder and puffy, the apples of his cheeks rose, even his hair seemed to have awoken, the sienna mass of it curling tighter around his face. "And the cash I shelled out wasn't 'little'. Besides being my last." 

"I'm sure you'll keep reminding me till you're sufficiently... reimbursed." If one's voice could sidle and flash the hearer with a thrown-open trench coat, that was it. 

Sav laughed outright. "You mean sufficiently fucked?" Then he ducked his head while Joe's swiveled around to make sure no one had heard. "Oops, sorry, need to be more careful." 

They were alone on the sidewalk for good twenty yards, a city bus lumbering by creating sufficient background noise. Joe grumped, "Too fuckin' right, you do, as do I." He paused. "That bloke in the shop was eying you up." 

"Aye, but it was you that he called 'Sir' and offered his... merchandise to," Sav pointed out. 

"It wasn't like that. Anyway, I think I'd like it better if you called me 'Sir'." 

Sav gawped so wide his chewing gum fell from his mouth to the ground, which he didn't acknowledge. "Not in a hundred years." 

"Oh no?" At first, Joe squared his shoulders like he was going to argue. For once he thought better of it. They went around the corner and though he couldn't see it yet, his house was not far up the road, past a curve. "Last chance for booze," he nodded at the run-down shop they were passing, the last before the row houses began. 

"I've less than a quid on me now. Just some change. What about you, thought you were broke?" Sav didn't slow. A few more steps and they'd pass it by. 

"Sometimes they'll let me have a sixer of the cheap stuff if I empty the bins," muttered Joe. 

"We don't need it. I'd rather do without than have you crawling all over me, reeking of stale beer or worse. Bit of a mood-killer." Though he meant what he said about not needing alcoholic assistance, Sav didn't mind a bit of manly gaminess. 

"Prissy, prissy. Fine, you win. Let me carry the bag the rest of the way." 

"No." 

"Why not?" Joe grabbed for it anyway, but Sav was too quick, backing away on light feet. "You'll never be able to move like that in those boots!" Joe taunted.

"And you have a twisted notion of chivalry or some such shite. My bass, my rig and my cabs are heavier than everyone else's stuff and I lug it around all the time. You think I can't carry a couple pairs of shoes for a mile or two?" 

"I thought you'd like it if I was nice." They were nearly running by now. Joe could see the Welcome sign his mother had hung on their door a few years before.

"I want you... how you are. As in now. Race you!" Sav took off. He was fast, but it was an even race between him carrying the bulky shopping bag and Joe's longer legs.

Joe growled about having to run with a hard-on but made it through the door first, where he pulled up short. Who but Rick sat at the kitchen table, flipping through a magazine and smoking. Apparently he needed a place to crash for a couple of days. "Well, shite," Joe grumbled. 

"Well, hello to you, too!" 

"Get your hand out of your pants and get out!" Joe spat, uncharacteristically rough with their drummer. 

Rick looked pissed, but he pushed his chair back and asked, "How long is this gonna take? I think your mum's home around nine." His eyes flicked from one to the other, down, and straight up at the ceiling. He snorted, "Have fun." 

Only speechless for a second, Sav moved out of the way for him to leave. "Forgot your titty mag," he chirped. 

"Eh, left it for you," Rick turned and walked backwards a couple steps, flipping them the bird. 

"We don't need it!" Joe called after him. 

Something else had caught Sav's attention. He called out to Rick, "Shut your barn door!" Turning to Joe, he warned, pointing at the table where a pair of very large, round breasts took up nearly an entire page, "Best not let your mum get a look at that."

"You think she's never seen that before?" scoffed Joe. "She's a nurse, remember? " Nevertheless, he grabbed the magazine on the way through and pushed Sav up the steps in front of him. They both knew why: a better up-close look at his arse. Indulgent, perhaps antagonistic, Sav slowed his pace, letting his butt sway a little which allowed Joe to examine the flex and stretch of his legs. 

But not too much. He wasn't as obvious about it - and had worn a shirt that covered his crotch - but Sav was every bit as horned up as his mate. He had been secretly relieved that Joe made Rick leave while they... "Ooof!" Joe tackled him from behind, or more like ran into him and walked them forward to his bed. Sav finally dropped the bag, which hit the floor with a dull thud. He needed both hands to brace himself; Joe had bent him over the side of the bed, rubbing up on his arse. Long fingers clutched his hipbones. "Gonna give it to you," Joe began.

"Let me ride you," came Sav's muffled voice as he bowed his face down, exposing his nape then tossed his head as he arched enough to plant his butt directly against Joe's erection. 

Almost directly. "Take yer pants off," was next in the singer-sex-monologue. 

Zero-point-oh-one seconds later, they were all over each other on the bed, scrabbling at belt buckles, buttons and zippers. Somehow, they got each other's shirts off without tearing anything and feasted on skin with tongues and open mouths. "Fuck, I want you," moaned Sav. 

"Oh, you'll get me." Jeans shoved all the way down and off the bed, Joe flipped on his side, hand spread over the fine hairs on Sav's lower abdomen. "Put those boots on your sexy feet, mate." 

"And the rest of me?" wondered Sav. He guided Joe's fingers between his legs, molding the singer's long digits around stiff purple-pink curving up from his groin. "Touch it!" 

He wasn't made to wait. Joe spit out two directives before making his eyes roll back with his foreskin. "Keep your socks on!" and "Don't come!" 

"Says you!" But Sav sat up and dumped out the contents of the shopping bag, his usual meticulous handling of precious objects forgotten in the scramble for the new footwear. Crumpled paper inside the shoebox rustled, and then he was stamping into the boots, otherwise naked with Joe stretching almost too far off the bed to get at his bum. Sav turned around, pushed him on his back and straddled him, sitting right on his sack. "You'll humour me now. Bonus for you - I do all the work." 

Although Joe wanted to get a leg over - bad - he laced his fingers behind his head and squinted up, snarling, a look Sav called "snake-eyes". All he said was, "Lube's in the drawer." 

But with that in hand, Sav reaching behind himself, Joe grew impatient again. The expression of cautious ecstasy and all that bare skin was too much. From below, he rutted up against the other man's taint. "Turn 'round. So I can see you stretch it." Cock and balls was easy to say. Even now, not so much the other component to a full-on consummation. 

"Like as not I'd boot you," pun intended, "in the nuts." Withdrawing his fingers, Sav leaned down. "I'm good. Wanna feel every inch of you - going in, making it burn." The point where burn became the craving for friction and then explosion, they both knew, was imminent. A drip of clear fluid fell from Sav's slit onto Joe's belly and that was it. 

They wiggled around. Sav raised up, quadracepts on full flex. His dick bobbed gently with his movements, and he tilted his head back with eyes closed to concentrate on lining them up, and sliding on down. "Uuunnngh!" he groaned, and Joe moaned the same guttural song as tight-hot-slick surrounded him a little at a time. The flat musculature of Sav's flanks and abdomen bunched from holding himself aloft till finally his arse touched down. His boots hugged Joe's pale sides. 

"Giddayup!" Joe barked with a little smack to white leather footwear on his right side. The other hand was still up by his head but far enough to the side now he was clutching at his own hair with one fist. 

A filthy wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression of unfulfilled need suffusing his features, Sav experimentally swiveled his hips. "Oh fuck yes!" he moaned as another shiny droplet stretched in a sticky string from his reddened glans to the patch of hair below Joe's navel. "Joe, I'm... feels so good...!" 

Bucking up under him, Joe's mouth was wide open, sounds of need and heat unrestrained. "Do that again!" The sleek hips rotated again, added a vertical bounce. Sav's hands came palm-down onto Joe's chest as he worked the action till they were both sheened and panting like dogs in high summer. The imagery was forever, iconic, but Joe would never be able to keep his hands off, not of this man. One crept between them to stoke, one behind to pull Sav down on him tighter than tight. 

But he needed more. The boots and the lead-up and the visual was driving him mad, so keyed up he couldn't just lay there anymore - he needed to move and fuck. Sav was heavier and more solid than the average woman; the effort to roll him on his back strained every muscle in Joe's upper body. Stubborn, Sav fought it at first and bounced harder, faster, but gave in eventually and pushed one leg down to avoid dislocation, the other curled around Joe's side. "There! Fuck! Your boots in the air!" Joe grunted as he set up a fast and near-violent rhythm. The insides of his elbows locked into Sav's bent knees so that the white heeled booties were soles-up and aloft, swaying with their movements. 

Sav's head tipped back again as he shoved the pillow aside. The cords stood out, the smooth, curved column of his neck with its little interruption of Adam's apple too tempting. The need to suck and scrape a bruise was a primal instinct. Joe made it livid while Sav howled and hitched below him. "No! Yes! Suck meeeee...." Of course it was only his skin and the thin, vulnerable structures below it. Another time...

Joe had the same mind. He was banging for all he was worth, each thrust bringing them closer. It wouldn't be long. His arse clenched tighter and his strokes grew longer. When he released the suction with a slurp, he groaned, "Another time, mate, promise." 

"Gimme your mouth," Sav demanded, "and make me come." His eyes were watering as he stared upwards, keeping his lover pinned, if not motionless. 

Licking his lips first, unconsciously, Joe lowered his head and offered himself in a way that was far more intimate than shagging, that he'd not been able to do at first, when they'd started this. Now, like Sav, approaching orgasm already it was an added shock of pure pleasure to his libido. He was conscious of how his wild-animal rutting made Sav's boots on his upturned feet wave and lurch. A short, harsh scream into his mouth signaled Sav's release, then several shots of warm, sticky, silky goo spread between them. It set off the trigger; Joe's balls boiled over but he'd swear, his release encompassed the muscles in his arse, thighs, abdomen, even his lower back. And his toes, which curled and uncurled in his crumpled sheets as he came down amidst the flow of post-sex chemicals into his veins. 

And then the silly thought: what about Sav's toes, in those close-fitting boots?

Sav kissed him again, a bit slack-lipped. 

"I love you..." rolled out of Joe's mouth before he even registered the thought. He started to withdraw but Sav suddenly clung to him, limbs like so many knotted ropes. Never had Joe thought about love when he was in bed before. He decided not to take it back, because it fit. Like the boots. 

Fin.


End file.
